Tanith Potter and the Children of Nerida
by BeskHolbien
Summary: "Is it ever right, in your opinion, to set aside one's own moral and cultural beliefs and act in defiance of them, if those beliefs are themselves a danger and impairment to those others that hold them, in order to protect those that yet believe?" - Hadrian Peverell. WBWL!AU, starting in fourth year.
1. Chapter 1: The Musings of an Old Man

"_Is it ever right, in your opinion, to set aside one's own moral and cultural beliefs and act in defiance of them, if those beliefs are themselves a danger and impairment to those others that hold them, in order to protect those that yet believe?" __**\- Hadrian Peverell**_

* * *

It was never supposed to be so complicated.

Albus Dumbledore let out a sigh as he sat in the study of his home, and placed a letter on his desk. Contrary to popular belief, he did actually have a home outside of Hogwarts (Partly due to the fact that a sitting member of the Wizengamot had to own a patch of land with property upon it.). It was a humble cottage in Cornwall, small enough to navigate around easily, and keep tidy.

He was getting old, after all, and his House Elf, Nipsy was not as old as he once was, but the Elf still carried himself with the dignity of a content and loyal servant (the fact Albus had him wear a uniform with his family crest upon it ensured that, when acting on business for his master, no one actually bothered him. It was a Pureblood tradition, though a few families did not subscribe to it, the Malfoy's being a notable example). Nipsy kept his little cottage clean and safe whilst he was at Hogwarts.

He was working on the start of year paperwork. It was dull, tedious work, but not overly taxing. It allowed his mind to wander a little. His hopes, concerns, thoughts and feelings towards the major event that he would have to oversee this year.

His mind turned, as it often did these days, to Tanith Potter. The Girl-Who-Lived was about to head into the fourth year of her education. He held onto the hope that, whilst her year would be busy, the reasons for it being so wouldn't involve her. After the business with Quirinus in her first year, the Basilisk in the second, and Pettigrew escaping Azkaban in the third, she quite frankly deserved a break from it all.

This in turn led, as it also often did, to his mind turning to _Harry _Potter. The only son of James and Lily Potter, and the eldest of three children. The Boy-That-Ran. It pained him to think that that name was all that was truly left of the eldest Potter child. A nickname. One that was sneered at. _The heir so jealous of his sister he ran away. _It was bollocks, Dumbledore thought. Harry James Potter was many things. Scholarly. Quiet. Protective. A dedicated elder brother. Never jealous.

But, for reasons no one could tell, one morning, when the youngest of the Potter children had gone to wake her brother up, she found the room empty. A letter was on his desk, along with his Heir's Ring.

Oh, the Potter's had searched for him. All but turning Magical Britain upside down to find him, contacting the European Ministries to see if they could find him. James had even used his position as an Auror to search the houses of 'former' Death Eaters in a bid to find any 'new' family members they might be hiding.

But the Potters had never found their son.

What they had found, was a letter from Gringotts waiting for them upon their return home one day, reporting that a claimant of the Peverell line had been found, and that, whilst the new 'Lord Peverell' would permit them to still claim descent from Ignotus Peverell, they could no longer have access to the Peverell Gringotts Vaults (and had the Peverell Estate still existed, they would have lost rights to that too).

It truly didn't affect the Potter's all that much, all things considered. Whilst once, someone could hold multiple seats in the Wizengamot due to multiple Family Lordships, after the Ministry of Magic was founded in 1707, and the Wizengamot Reforms of 1710, the Noble Families could only have a single seat. It had helped that the Reforms of 1710 had ceased the creation of new Nobility. The Nobles still made up the older half of the Wizengamot chamber, whilst the rest of the chamber was _technically _elected. Of course, political corruption being what it was, most of those that _were _elected were often allies of those in the older half. Even then, barely half of those elected were of Muggle birth. They could have contest the matter, but so soon after their son's disappearance, they could not bring themselves to drag the frankly minor matter through the courts. It was a title they did not use, nor need. It was a simple matter to give it to someone that actually could put the title (and rank) to use.

So it was that Lord James Potter ceded the Peverell Lordship to its mysterious new holder (with the appropriate apologies for any offence taken, of course. James Potter, despite his prank filled younger years, had actually taken to politics well in recent years.). Lord Peverell paid his taxes, played the diplomat, and sent polite declinations of all invitations he was sent, citing that he was focusing on his education for now.

And yet, until this morning, all he had had from the boy ever since was a simple, five word message around the time his sister was supposed to start school.

_Take care of her._

_-HJP_

He had done so, of course. That was the deal he and Harry had struck, after all. Whilst he was a firm member of the Reformist Party of the Wizengamot (which might as well have been called the Light Faction), that did not mean he didn't know how to _fake someone's death._

It was surprisingly, and concerningly easy to fake Harry's death. Gringotts had been an immense help. The Goblin's had done so with ugly grins, cheerfully committing to the barely legal action, obviously amused that he, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot was prepared to do such a brazen thing. And so Harry James Potter 'died', and Hadrian Johann Peverell had being 'born'. He had enrolled in the Durmstrang Institute, and….nothing. Not a word from the boy until Tanith started at Hogwarts. It had assuage his concerns a little. He still cared for his family

He sighed as he reread the letter in his hand, and smiled contentedly. It was written in an elegant, aristocratic hand, carried by a familiar snowy white owl. Hedwig was known to only a few in Britain, though only he knew of the original identity of the bird's owner.

_I'm in._

_-HJP_

_Good,_ Albus thought. It meant that Harry..Hadrian, he supposed, had made it into the Durmstrang delegation that was attending that year. He had considered sending Karkaroff an owl, 'requesting' that he bring the young man with him, but had hesitated. It would have been too easy. Too much like manipulation. Too much like Tom. Like Gellert.

Albus Dumbledore disliked having to use such distasteful methods in order to deal with Voldemort. But the fury of elder brothers was something to behold. Something that was hard to rival. To overcome.

He would know, after all.

* * *

**This is my attempt at the now 'classic' WBWL trope. Harry is the elder sibling of Tanith by two years, and really **_**isn't **_**the Boy-Who-Lived. However, he 'ran away' the summer before starting Hogwarts (also known as elder brothers are not people you want to annoy, especially when they are Potter's.)****, and has been missing for five years at the start of the story. Whilst there will be some bashing, it will be limited.**

**This starts in Fourth year, as I am sure you've surmised already, and will hopely have sequels that go into later years.**


	2. Chapter 2: The World Cup

"_Magic blooms only in rare souls." __**\- Gellert Grindlewald**_

"_A shame competency blooms in even rarer ones, is it not?..." __**\- Gaius Lorarmar, in response**_

* * *

_**1994, Quidditch World Cup Grounds, Dartmoor.**_

Tanith Dorea Potter, daughter of Lord James Potter, Heiress of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter, sighed as she trailed behind her parents and younger sister. The younger girl had done nothing but talk ever since her Hogwarts letter had arrived, and when Euphemia Marigold Potter got going, it was hard to get her to stop. She herself had her dark hair braided and draped over one shoulder, and her brown eyes constantly looked around. She was often compared to looking like her mother, albeit with her father's hair and eye colour. She wore glasses, and the Heiress ring rested on her finger.

Whilst she did love her sister, Euphie was often.._a lot _to deal with. So eager to see and do everything. Whether that be Quidditch, or training with their father, or even the odd visit to the Ministry to see their Uncle Sirius at the DMLE….She barely remembered Harry at all now.

Tanith on the other hand, did. She had been nine when her brother had vanished. Old enough to have a scant few memories of him. It was he, she was told, that had taught her to read. Some of her fondest memories involved a dark haired boy with green eyes and glasses he didn't need (but wore so she wouldn't feel embarrassed about needing them herself), smiling fondly, and speaking words that were now silent in her mind, from back when the library was sunny and warm, not dull and soul-wrenchingly empty.

She was broken out of her reverie by her family coming to a halt. Cornelius Fudge was not on her list of favourite people. In her mind he was lazy, content with the corrupt mire the Ministry had become on his watch. It was all but an open secret that he was Lucius Malfoy's puppet.

"Minister?" Her father questioned.

"Ah James, good to see you! And young Tanith, looking lovely as usual." The man smiled jovially as he held his arms out wide. "This is the Bulgarian Ambassador."

The man merely offered a firm nod, and turned to a younger man at his side, and murmured something. The younger man nodded, and cleared his throat as he addressed the others.

"The Ambassador says that it is a pleasure to make your acquaintances." The young man informed them. He was older than Tanith, though not by much, with curly brown hair, and brown eyes that barely hid a spark of mischievousness. "He apologises, but his English is not good enough to carry extended conversation."

"That's quite alright my boy! Quite alright!" Fudge boomed happily. "James, can I have a word before the match?"

"Of course, Minister. Although it'll need to be a quick one, the match is starting soon." Suppressing a sigh, James nodded, and turned to Lily. "Go and find our seats, Lils. I shouldn't be long."

"Are you sure? We can wait if needs be.." Lily offered, only to be met with a shake of her husband's head.

"Nah, go get settled in. Best beat the Malfoy's to the good seats, eh?" He grinned.

"I can wait, Mother." Tanith replied with a faint smile. "I need to wait around for Hermione and Neville anyway."

"Are you sure Tanith?" Her father asked immediately. "There are a lot of people.."

"It will be fine, Father. Who would attack me here?" She asked with a questioning smile. "Surrounded by security forces from around the globe? Nobody, of course."

James sighed, and nodded. "Alright then."

As James and the Minister headed off, Lily and Euphie did the same, leaving Tanith alone, aside from the two Bulgarian's.

"Frey.." The Ambassador addressed him in hushed tones. "_Otidete i otdelete malko vreme za sebe si, shte se opravya bez teb za izvestno vreme.__._"

Frey nodded in acceptance, and the elder man headed off. He turned to face Tanith, and grinned.

"You...are Hogwarts then, yes?" He asked aloud. Tanith could not place his accent. Definitely British, but...a hint of something foreign perhaps?

"Ah..yes. Gryffindor." She replied. "Yourself?"

He smiled politely. "Durmstrang does not have Houses, My Lady. We have our social groups true, but no Houses. We find it causes undue..._difficulties _amongst the student body."

It took all of Tanith's Noble education to stop herself from making a disparaging remark about the man's school. Durmstrang did not have the greatest reputation in Britain, after all. "I see. Forgive _sir, _but you have yet to introduce yourself in an appropriate manner.."

"Ah, my deepest apologies. I am Odysseus Frey, illegitimate Son of the Frey Family, much to their eternal annoyance and displeasure..which is probably why they packed me off to Durmstrang, not Beauxbatons as is tradition." The young man took a polite bow. "It is truly good to make your acquaintance."

Inclining her head, and dipping into a vague curtsy. "Tanith Potter. Heiress of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter….etcetera, etcetera."

"Ah. I take it you are here for the usual 'political bullshit' reasons too then?" He drawled.

"Something like that. I just want to watch the damn Quidditch match." Tanith replied.

Frey let out a laugh, and Tanith rolled her eyes. "You are not exactly what I expected from a Durmstrang student, I must admit."

"Were you expecting me to be sporting a buzzcut and be built like a bri-...like a Muggle Truck, Heiress Potter?" Frey's grin remained even as he caught himself. "I'm afraid that's more Viktor's schtick. As long as we have the look of respectable.._students _about us_, _Highmaster Karkaroff doesn't care for the style of our hair. Professor Proserpine on the other hand….."

"Tanith!"

Odysseus turned his gaze to face the owner of the voice. A girl with bushy brown hair and 'muggle' clothing, walking beside a slightly plump young man. "I see your friends have arrived."

"There you are!" The girl declared. "There are so many people here aren't there? I know that football stadiums seat lots of people, but this is-"

"..Who's this Tan?" Neville asked, cutting Hermione off gently. Frey grinned, and took a bow.

"Just call me Frey, my friend." He told him. "Anywho, I best be off."

"..Enjoy the game then." Tanith told him with a smile. "Thank you for...keeping me company, I suppose."

"'Twas a pleasure. Be seeing you, Heiress Potter." Frey said with a cheerful grin as he strolled off, whistling a jaunty tune to himself.

* * *

It was only later, after the Irish victory, that Frey made his way to where his tent once was. The tent itself was gone, and in its place stood another young man. His neat, black hair came down to his shoulders, his green eyes narrowing at Frey's approach.

"...A pity about Bulgaria, is it not?" Frey smirked."Viktor is not going to be happy. Good thing we bet on Ireland, eh Hadrian?"

"True enough." Hadrian sighed. "Claire and Masha have already headed off. How is Tanith doing?"

"She seems nice enough." Odysseus commented. "Looked bored though. Minister Fudge does like to drone on a little."

"I care not for the Minister. Tell me of Tanith. She looks healthy I trust?"

Frey's expression softened. "You could always go and say hello, Harry."

"Absolutely not." Hadrian snapped back. "She believes me dead, and that is likely for the best."

"If you say so. Your family bullshit is nothing to do with me….although.." Frey smirked. "She _reeks _of Dark Magic. The naughty girl."

"So does Masha after a night of drinking." Hadrian drawled. "But I do not see why that would warrant mentioning."

"A fair point. It's probably nothing." Frey shrugged, before frowning. "By the way, why does she get to go drinking, and not me?"

Hadrian shot him a look, and held out a hand. "The Soviet Union."

"How many times do I have to apologise for that?" Frey grinned, taking Hadrian's hand and letting the other young man apparate them both away.

Mere minutes later, the Death Eaters attacked.

* * *

**Another one down! Up next is probably going to be a chapter on the Durmstrang Ship, meeting up with the other members of the main Durmstrang crew.**

**I must also apologise to any Bulgarian readers, I used Google Translate for the Bulgarian in this chapter. If anyone would be kind enough to provide a better translation, I would deeply appreciate it.**

**Frey. ****Otidete i otdelete malko vreme za sebe si, shte se opravya bez teb za izvestno vreme.** **= Frey. Go and take some time for yourself, I shall be fine without you for a while. **


	3. Chapter 3: On the Boat

"_Whilst the Dark Arts are typically more powerful than more 'Light' and 'Grey' magic, they have a major drawback in that it not only corrupts the soul of the caster, but causes them to become addicted to the use of the Dark Arts. A vicious cycle, is it not? The use of the Dark Arts often draws you deeper into the Dark Arts..and deeper...and so on and so forth…." __**\- Kreia Proserpine, Professor of Darker Studies, Durmstrang Institute.**_

* * *

_**1994, somewhere on Lake Korpilampi, Durmstrang Ship.**_

The vessel that the Durmstrang students were travelling on didn't actually have a name. An Institute located near Lake Korpilampi on the Finland-Russia border rarely required a seafaring vessel, of course.

Inside, it had several enlargement charms placed upon it for comfortable, enough for all the various social groups to have their own cabins, although the Highmaster had the largest cabin, all but a copy of his office and bedchambers from Durmstrang itself.

It was here, draped inelegantly yet comfortably on a sofa, that one of Durmstrang's most capable duelists was currently located. She was short in stature, with a bob cut of fiery red hair and dull grey eyes. Masha Ianevski idly toyed with her wand, an ugly, nine inch ebony wand with a core of rare rougarou hair. It allowed her easier use of the Dark Arts, its influence upon her lessened, albeit not entirely. As with all Durmstrang students, she dressed in the typical uniform they were expected to wear. Black boots, with light brown leggings and a blood red jacket with the institute's sigil over their heart. Unlike most of the other Magical schools, Durmstrang did not have seperate uniforms for its male and female students (It was out of pure pragmatism, of course. Finland was cold. Hardly appropriate for skirts.). She was often cold to those around her, even her friends.

She often puzzled over how it was she became to be friends with the trio she was bunking with. It had been their first year, and several of the older students had decided to curse her for the crime of 'being a halfblood'. However, they had missed, and nearly hit another girl. Ordinarily, this wouldn't have mattered.

But the girl in question had been Claire _Rosier. _

The 'Black Sheep' of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Rosier's Swiss branch, Claire was looked upon with fear by her schoolmates due to her family ties. She had been blinded in her right eye, so extremely that it could not be healed. This was accompanied by a trio of slash-like scars, which started at her forehead, went over her eye, and ended on level with her mouth. It had been her Father's 'punishment' for having an aptitude for healing magic, something the Rosier's frowned upon, and had done for centuries. They considered it _beneath _their ancient heritage. They did after all, claim their descent from the the traitorous Knight of Camelot, Mordred. For centuries, they had supported Dark Lord after Dark Lord, and the Swiss Rosier's were no exception, often bankrolling their rises. Over the summer between her first and second year, her Father had died due to rapid onset of a 'mystery' illness, followed soon after by her Uncle. Fingers had been pointed at her, but nothing could be proved.

Regardless of her history, Claire was a polite, kindly young woman, and probably the person Masha was closest to. She had blonde hair, although it was often mistaken as white, kept in a short, neat braid. Her one remaining good eye was pale, and icy blue.

Masha allowed her mind to drift back to the day. The day she actually stopped being so damn alone..

* * *

_It had only been a mild stinging hex to start with. One that sailed through the filled halls of the Durmstrang Institute, and struck Claire Rosier on the shoulder. It had obviously been aimed at herself, though, so she had taken out her wand, and returned fire. Soon, a small channel was formed by the other students, allowing her and her attacker to face off._

"_What on earth are you doing?!"_

"_You have hit Rosier, Barochev." She had responded, turning away. "Cease, before you go beyond your limits." _

"_Ianevski! Don't turn your back on me!" The elder boy barked, but Masha had ignored him. "Cruci-ack!"_

_He seethed as his wand flew from his hand, and clattered on the ground. Turning his gaze to the perpetrator, he was met by the smirking face of Odysseus Frey._

"_Now now" Frey had teased. "You shouldn't curse someone in the back.."_

"_Leave, Frey." The seventh year snarled. "This is nothing to do with you."_

"_Oh, I think it does." He fired back, still smiling. "Attacking a second year? Tsk Tsk. Is that the only way you can be better than others? For shame Jimmy."_

"_Jozef." He scowled. "Call me Jimmy again, and I swear I'll-"_

"_Crucio."_

_The cool voice silenced the many that were observing, as Jozef's screams filled the air. The neutral expression on the face of his assailant was unchanging, even as his target's pleas grew in pitch. Just as people started to look away, the spell was stopped. Hadrian Peverell let out a sigh, and ran a hand through his hair. "The next time you intend to attack someone, Barochev. Do it like the Pureblood you are, face to face. Not in the back like a Mudblood."_

_A quiet murmur of agreement had gone around those watching, someone even calling out "Too true Peverell!". They started to disperse, and Jozef tried to rise, only to collapse again, wincing loudly._

"Vostorpens." _It was Claire that waved the numbing charm over her accidental assailant. Her good eye narrowing softly. "There. That will get you to the medical wing."_

"_Th-Thank-"_

"_Save it." Claire interrupted as she made to walk away. "You and Ianevski are done. Understand? Next time we will let her retaliate."_

_Barochev paled, and turning his gaze to Peverell, who had remained silent. "T-Tell her I understand...I-I promise to le-leave Ianevski be. Tell her!"_

_Frey wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and started to lead her away. "So then Masha, can I call you Masha?"_

"_I doubt I could stop you regardless." She had drawled._

"_Brilliant! So Masha. Myself and my friends are eating lunch on the shore. You want to tag along?"_

"_Do I have a choice?"_

"_I very much doubt it, I'm afraid." Amused tones filled her ears, and she glanced over her shoulder._

"_Hadrian Peverell, My Lady." The dark haired boy inclined his head. "Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell. Frey's invitation stands though."_

_She had been met by a trio of encouraging smiles, and had shrugged._

"_Fine. I'm in. A change of scenery might be nice."_

* * *

She had been broken out of her reminiscing by the soft triling of Hadrian's owl, Hedwig. She glanced around, and simply snorted. "Looks like someone's happy you're back, Peverell."

Her three friends, strode in, and proceeded to slump on their beds in unison. Frey let out a long suffering sigh, and sat himself up. "I am glad we're not sailing this damn thing all the way there. The ocean is interesting and all, but dear Merlin it'd get boring."

Claire mumbled something unintelligible, muffled on her pillow, whilst Hadrian hauled himself to his feet in order to feed Hedwig.

"So then, Hogwarts." Masha asked aloud. "..Opinion?"

"It will do, I suppose." Hadrian replied. "A little...restrictive on what is or is not acceptable, so we'll need to be cunning in how we conduct ourselves."

"And how are you feeling, given you might well see your sisters again?" Frey asked, all trace of his usual laidback attitude gone.

Hadrian did not offer an answer.

* * *

"**Vostorpens" - A numbing charm. Whilst useless against a full powered cruciatus curse, it is useful to dull pain.**

**Hope you enjoyed, read and review, and stay tuned! We're at Hogwarts next. Fun fact, Masha's surname is a shout out to the actor that played Viktor Krum in the GoF movie, Stanislav Ianevski.**

**Edit: Reuploaded on 05/04/19**


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